


30 Days Ship Challenge: Apollo/Midnighter

by kikibug13



Category: The Authority
Genre: Body Modification, Canon Gay Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets, glimpses, and fics about the old married geezers, Apollo and the Midnighter of the Authority (Wildstorm).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts are [here](http://internetqueers.tumblr.com/post/90210366457/now-thats-what-i-call-a-30-day-otp-challenge). 
> 
> The snippets can range, time-wise, across canon. Some of them will be more tightly bound with specific moments; others will be more speculative.

The first time Apollo could remember being aware of a leather hand holding his own had been...

Well, that hadn't been too much fun. It had involved being knocked out of a rooftop (damn too much fighting in night alleyways and not daring to spend time in the sun too openly, since if he could see the sun, he could be seen from orbit, and he really didn't care for that), and it was accompanied by a quiet stream of swearing and threats and promises to make him regret his thoughtlessness. As soon as Apollo's fingers had tightened around the thicker glove, before he opened his eyes, it had withdrawn, and he'd looked up into a brown-eyed glare.

"Don't. _Do_ that, you dumbass."

Apollo tried to smile, a little. "If we go to our current crash place with you supporting me as though I'm drunk, that'd help our cover. We're good." 

"You think our _cover_ is what I'm fucking freaking out ab--" Midnighter caught his quietly growled words and pressed his lips together, but his eyes were still intense enough for warmth to ease its way in Apollo's chest. It felt nothing like getting charged up by sunlight, which would have been useful, right now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. This was better. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Midnighter." 

"Could've fooled me."

"Oh yeah? I can surprise the all-foreseeing Mi--"

"Shut up. And get up."

"Mm-hmm. Those enthusiasts present any trouble for you?" 

"No. Not even if I was--" 

"Distracted." 

Midnighter glared at him sideways, but didn't retract his supporting arm. Apollo leaned against his shoulder as much as he needed to. He knew that he wasn't as heavy as his body's shape suggested, but he wasn't light, either, and he'd need the help until sunrise, when he'd be out of the dingy apartment and taking a walk, then a run, before most people were out to head to work. No flight, much as he'd like to. Maybe, one day.

"We'll have to talk about that, one day, you know."

"You're delusional." 

"Optimistic."

"Big dumb..."

"Yeah, well. You're stuck with me."

They were near their building when Apollo's sharp hearing let him catch the muttered, muted, "fine by me" that answered him. 

***

It wasn't that Jenny got sick, or anything like that, because she didn't. But there were still difficult times, times when all they could do was wait something out, and wait for her clear brown eyes to open up again and fix on them. With a little luck, to light up with recognition and joy. Sometimes... just to open up and acknowledge they were there. 

She was Jenny Quantum. She had unimaginable power, really, and was far from shy in using it, when she needed to. But it came with strings attached, and there was absolutely nothing there to prepare them for what did happen, the twists and turns of infancy and toddling and early childhood. 

Today, Apollo was kneeling in front of the couch - the couch that Jenny was hovering a few inches above, eyes half-open but definitely unseeing. She'd let him touch her, but hadn't responded to it, and trying to draw her in his lap for more comfort hadn't worked out. So he waited it out, ready to protect her and ready to help out if anything changed, and ready to call for help, Angie on Jeroen or somebody. Depending on what might happen.

His eyes went down to his hands, resting on his jeans, and one hand curled up, helplessly. 

He was waiting Jenny out alone, today. It was the third time, he knew, over the last months. Things happened. She'd turned six a few weeks ago. And, when he was helpless, nobody was there, just as helpless, to squeeze his hand, now. 

*** 

It was easy. Midnighter walked in - well, dropped in - from a door, peered in on him. Made a comment on his current hobby, though half the time it was mostly an obvious question. Teased, and Apollo teased back, and he knew from the way the brown eyes were visible through the eye-slits of the mask and the tilt of his mouth where this was going to go. 

One of the black-gloved hands was going to reach up and gather up his silver-blond hair at the nape of the neck, the leather touch sending a shiver down Apollo's spine as he leaned down to meet his husband's lips. The other gloved hand would find his, and their fingers would twine together, black and white, inseparable. 

(There had been that one time when somebody had tried to rush them in the middle of a kiss. They hadn't even broken it to punch the idiot, together. Most people had better sense, though.) 

"Ready for that shower?" 

"Gonna join me?" 

"I've got laundry to do. For both of us, now that you spread," he squinted down at himself, "rusty purple goop over my white uniform."

"Oops." There was not an ounce of contrition in that smirk. Apollo wasn't looking for any, either. 

"Worth it."

And the look in Midnighter's eyes was, too, as he walked off. 

Some days, life was really great.


	2. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night, during those years when trying to create a finer world was down to just the two of them, and they knew oh, so little. (But enough.)

"It's only a nightmare. Get back to sleep." 

Neither Apollo nor the Midnighter needed much sleep. Which was a good thing, because neither of them ever _got_ much. Not in the days after they lost their unit, not in the days later, when the nightmare they remembered mixed with earlier nightmares that they couldn't be certain of, and then got an overlay of the kind of things they saw on the streets, in the eyes of people who'd once trusted in the country they lived in but had nothing left of that...

The Midnighter wasn't exactly plagued by a guilty conscience, and that was probably for the best, with all the things that he had done, was doing, was planning to do, and was _going_ to do, yet, but even he remembered mistakes. The collateral damage. (That was how Apollo first knew, before months and then years together bound them tighter than anything, conceivably, could sever, that the Midnighter was somebody he _wanted_ to spend his future with. Before he loved him, even. There was that one time when the Midnighter, the man who joyfully could and did take human life, grieved over a child that had caught in inept crossfire and he couldn't save. Not irritated over a tactical mistake. Grieving for somebody who shouldn't have gotten killed. One day, a long time from that night, Angie was going to laugh at Apollo's words that the Midnighter could be surprisingly sensitive. What did the Engineer know?) 

In the end, the Midnighter didn't even try to sleep much. Apollo knew that some of the intelligence his partner procured was gathered in the hours when they were supposed to rest. It was the Midnighter's way, what could either of them do? The way Apollo's (usually silent) pleas for mercy didn't get sneered at, when the Midnighter judged that they couldn't get more information from the death - it was just one of those things that the two of them accepted about themselves and each other.

The Midnighter's nightmares were heavier; he preferred to avoid them altogether. 

But he didn't leave Apollo alone and unprotected _that_ often when the blond went for rest, either. Sometimes he drowsed. Sometimes, he tried to plan ahead. Sometimes, he watched over Apollo's sleep. 

Like tonight.

They'd stripped down when they decided on an abandoned building, instead of doorway. Their outfits were durable, but not eternal, and Apollo's in particular was starting to show signs of wear. Unlike the blond, it didn't regenerate in sunlight, and wasn't meant to endure time as well as Midnighter's leather was. But leather also smelled, when worn for days on end. It was hung out to air a bit. 

Even without the constant, absolute processing of his environment that the Midnighter did (endured?), Apollo's mind and senses touched on such things to back up the other man's quiet reassurance. To remind himself where and when he was. 

It didn't help much.

He sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and crossing his arms around his shins, blue eyes staring, wide open, in the glum. 

"One of those?" 

Apollo didn't react, not immediately. Then swallowed. Neither of them were exactly open with their feelings, and neither of them needed to be, and yet... here they were. There was not another soul that Apollo _could_ talk to. Tonight, he needed to.

"They were under my command. It was my fault."

His words dropped in the dark warehouse, and sank in the sudden, deep silence. 

And then the Midnighter threw his head back and laughed, loud, harsh. Apollo stiffened, his jaw tightening. After about twenty-five seconds, the sound stopped again. 

"No. It was Bendix's fault." 

"Well, yeah, but..."

"No buts about it. He sent us down, blind, with no way out. You almost killed your fool self, trying to get everyone out!" 

For all the violence that the Midnighter doled out, he wasn't often _angry_. Not this kind of bone-freezing anger that his voice cut with. Apollo recognized that despite his own offended fury, and, for the first time since waking up, he actually looked over at the darker man. The sickly light seeping in from the windows played over the scars on his skin, but his brown eyes were like black holes, boring into Apollo. The intensity made him unfold, taken aback though not recoiling. There was something in that dark look that didn't _frighten_ Apollo. It reminded him... of something. He didn't know for sure of what, but he tried to swallow around it, anyway.

 _Instead, it was_ him _who saved me._

"C'mere." 

The Midnighter's voice cut through the memories. Apollo glanced back up, and then shifted his butt closer, leaned against the tight chest, and felt the cooler arms wrap around him. 

It was absolute truth to say that the man whose only known name was Apollo did not remember being held. 

It was absolute truth, also, that he regretted not at all that his first memory of it would be like this. The hard arms hugged him surprisingly gently, and Apollo, after a long moment, started relaxing. Time passed, only marked by heartbeats and breaths (heartbeats that the Midnighter could regulate for himself and breaths that Apollo didn't really need to take).

Apollo considered going to sleep again, but he couldn't find willpower to exchange this peace for that one.

But, when the Midnighter finally spoke again, murmur behind his ear, Apollo did smile. "I'm glad I got you out." There was something missing at the end of that statement, hanging in the still air around them. Apollo didn't reach for it. But he did raise his hand, and ran his thumb, once, along the underside of one of Midnighter's arm. 

The Midnighter let out the breath he'd been holding.


	3. One-sided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogues. All they know is each other. What could get complicated?

Tonight's job was easy. Not short, and not very simple - the collateral damage was unacceptable - but it was straightforward. There was no moral gray about it. The mooks, which had nothing to do with the US Government (this time), were using children for work. Different kinds of work.

Some of it sex work. 

Not all of the kids were even into their teens.

Even Apollo was quietly efficient, none of his usual flashiness or brightness to show. Midnighter? Midnighter was furious. His strikes snapped bone, broke away teeth, caved skulls in (the latter only where the kids wouldn't see the results). His kicks shoved balls all the way up to idots' navels. There was no remorse, and not pitiful looks from large blue eyes under white-blond eyebrows. 

Tonight's job was easy. 

The cleanup, not so much. 

The Midnighter hung back in the shadows, putting together evidence that would (could, more likely, but he wanted to be at least a little optimist tonight - for this, at least) put away all those responsible, the ones who'd "invested" into this hellhole and profited from it. He tried not to watch as Apollo tried to slowly soothe the children they'd found, which was possibly way too easy when you were as beautiful and bright and gentle as the blond, but way too hard after what the kids'd been through. In the end, the warm smile, warm hands, and warm words did the trick, and the Midnighter caught glimpses through his work. 

The white-clad man, surrounded by children and teenagers, all safely sat down, working on a computer to try and track their addresses... or places where they could go. A boy, maybe ten years old, held up in his arms, tangling his fingers in the silvery hair and smiling in wonder. (The Midnighter was too far away for his computer to actually evaluate how such a touch would feel, the weight of the lengthening pale strands, the near-silent rasp that they'd be making against one another...) Eventually, a girl falling asleep with her head in his lap. Blue eyes, weighted by sadness, wide-eyed and worried, finding him in the darkness. The Midnighter made a motion with his hand. _You're doing fine._

It was the most he could give, and it was somehow not fair, because he was taking so much. Sight and sounds and scent, and warmth, if only by proxy. 

Hope.

It was ridiculous, there was no hope for them, not with Bendix where he was, not with them who they were, and most certainly not for the Midnighter, for things (desires? Feelings?) that his ravaged memory couldn't place. He didn't know if he'd been gay or straight or bisexual or cutting anyone's assets off, before. He certainly didn't know if Apollo had been, and he was driving himself crazy, running so many possible situations through the computer in his head. Millions didn't begin to cover it. They had so many opportunities, every day, every night, for something between them to change. Midnighter _wanted_ it to change, wanted them closer, but whether anything would work...

It depended on parameters that the computer couldn't pick up. It was targeted towards fights, after all, not romance. 

_Heh. Romance._ As though living rough, or knowing that if they were caught, they'd be destroyed as who they were... as a _best_ case scenario, lended themselves to thoughts of romance.

That night, the Midnighter went away. 

They'd established a sort-of pattern. If Apollo had exhausted more of his energy than he should have, he needed actual rest, and the Midnighter didn't, not so much. So, when Apollo slept, he went off. Punched more people. Gathered more intel. (For all the appearances that Apollo was dumber, and all Midnighter's tactical enhancements, it was the fairer man who had the best breakthroughs, in their quest for knowledge. Intuition, or luck, really - intelligence that applied to different things that Midnighter's, it didn't matter to him. His mouth hitched up at one corner, under the mask, every time the blond asked a question and, suddenly, a whole block of data seemed comprehensible...)

It was just that, tonight, he didn't return. For the next two days, he made his way away, hidden and quiet. Did his job, in the shadows. Forty-eight hours. Fifty. Fifty-two. 

Sunrise. 

The Midnighter swore at himself, in the not-silence of his head, and started back. It was no good. His mind still went back to Apollo. And, on top of running scenarios of possible conversations, he was running scenarios of what might have happened to him in the Midnighter's absence. They were not good scenarios. 

He made his way back in less than forty hours. Then he needed forty more to _locate_ Apollo, and that only happened because Apollo hadn't flown away. The bastard was safe, at least, but sneaky. Not as sneaky as the himself, but sneaky all the same. Apparently, not as ill-prepared for roughing it as the Midnighter had feared. 

Since when did he _fear_? For _someone else_? 

_Since one military-cut sun-near-god snuck his way under my skin, obviously._

Knowing that Apollo could make it on his own almost set him back on his way. He wasn't the necessity he had imagined himself to be, hell, how could he have been so ridiculous? He was a shadow in the gutter - why would the sun need him? For anything? 

Then Apollo turned, and the Midnighter froze mid-motion, from his observation spot on a rooftop off a ways. 

The broad shoulders hadn't been hunched, the white-blond hair wasn't more mussed than usual, his body language hadn't been more tense than he'd seen it in the months since he'd known him. 

But his face. It was wrecked.

His mind (the computer? He couldn't be sure, not right then and there over the gut-punch that was intense enough to be physical) provided the answer for him. _Idiot. You're the only thing he has left in the whole fucking world. How did you think he'd take it?_

The only thing that wasn't Henry Bendix, and Apollo would _not_ return to him. He was too... too good. Even in the gutter, even with nothing left to him, Apollo was too good a man to do something he didn't believe in. _What a great ego boost. I'm better company, more acceptable, at least, than that bastard._

He was still waiting for Apollo when he returned to his makeshift lair after a morning walk to soak up sun before the sky became too overcast. Apollo stepped in through a broken window, his 'street' face - one that wouldn't make people stop and ask him who'd died - falling away, only to still. Tilt his head. 

The blue eyes found him, though the flair of his nostrils suggested that it hadn't been sight or sound that'd given him away. It didn't matter, not when basking in the light of that wide-eyed, _joyous_ look. Apollo worked his throat, then swallowed. Stepped further onto the grimy floor. 

And smiled. 

For the first time since he woke up as a Stormwatch operative, the output of the computer didn't matter one little bit. Only the brilliance he was looking up into mattered. 

"You came back!" Joy. Relief. Hope. (Still wrong. Even more wrong when it was, somehow, the Midnighter bringing it.) And some sort of innocence that made the big man with almost absolute strength _right_ for the kind of superhuman that he'd been turned into. 

"Yeah," the Midnighter grouched through dry mouth. "I do that." Then he clenched his teeth against the questions. There would be questions (there would be questions if Apollo had been missing for almost a week). 

Instead, Apollo ducked his head, and motioned towards another part of the 'room' he was in. "One of the older girls went back to that spot, after the police were out. Didn't go back inside, but looked around. Then she left some money, cash. I think we can get a proper room and actually shower, tonight. If you'd like."

The Midnighter blinked. 

"That was... a possibility that occurred to me." 

Apollo's smile was almost shy. "You do that, too. But it's nice when one of the good possibilities comes to pass, right?" 

The Midnighter's heart - the main one, he assumed, not the backup - thumped in his chest, once, too loud. 

"Yeah. Let's see what we can find for tonight."


	4. Making out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trouble with no memories is that everything's new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section involves mildly voyeuristic / fantasizing elements.

Apollo sat on the edge of a rooftop, tucked away against a chimney, and watched people while soaking up sunlight. In particular, he watched a (young) couple kissing intensely in a doorway. They had been at it for twenty-three minutes and showed no inclination to stop anytime soon. The girl's back was pressed against the side of the doorway's alcove, her hands tucked underneath the boy's shirt and roving - scratching, half the time - his back. A slight, ghost tingle traced his own back, watching them, but he discarded the phantom sensation. 

He didn't actually know what such a touch felt like. He didn't know what kissing felt like, or the pressure of her hips and thigh at the front of his crotch which was making his whole body rub into her. It seemed... to feel good, on both ends. 

Oh, he knew how arousal felt like. Release, too. Bodies could be insistent, that way, he'd found out. It just seemed different, shared, and they were taking so much time, it seemed strange and enticing to him. (Not with them!) But, what did he know?

He leaned back against the sun-warmed bricks of the chimney and closed his eyes, his face turned to the light. And tried to imagine what it might feel like. Maybe tried to remember, it was a bit of a game he sometimes played with himself, in his mind, but trying to remember was going to bring frustration, and the afternoon seemed too nice for that. So he tried to imagine, instead. 

But there was the immediate snag. It took two, and trying to put it with 'just somebody' didn't work at all. He tried then to imagine a woman, breasts pressing against his chest and hips flaring under his hands...

Nope. It looked amazing with the two teenagers down in the doorway, but the imagined touch didn't seem that hot, when he was the one being touched. He scrunched his face. That was weird. 

_Men kiss men, too, don't they?_

The thought occurred to him, and he shrugged. Yeah, they did. Why not try that? Oddly enough, that worked better. He could actually go into detail, imagine warm breath against his mouth. Touch of hands on him, strong... stubble against his chin. Scent of leather and honey--

Apollo's eyes snapped open. Had he just imagined kissing _the Midnighter_? 

_Yes._

Did he want to? Yeah, when he thought about it. But it was the Midnighter, whose mind was spewing tactical dangers and advantages constantly. Somehow, Apollo doubted that anything like that was going to sit well with the man. Too close. Especially considering Apollo's own strengths.

Oh well. 

(He didn't fly off the roof. He went down the fire escape, the opposite side of the building from the kissing pair, only descending gently the last story or so to land inconspicuously.)

*** 

The first time they kissed was nothing like what he'd imagined on that sun-warmed rooftop. He really hadn't factored in the amount of blood, snot, and tears that were present for the actual event. Suffice it to say that one of them had nearly died, the other had been crying while holding him (which he would never admit), and Apollo had found out that the Midnighter really didn't object to close contact nearly as much as Apollo had expected. 

It had been a good thing to learn.

***

The best kiss they shared was the one after Jackson King cleared them out after the Nevada Garden mission. The mess that King injected them with hadn't even worried them a little - Midnighter hadn't had to spell it out to him, what the new Weatherman had done and why. Actually, it reassured them, or at least reassured Apollo, that the man really _had_ dealt with Bendix. Nobody too squeamish to take precautions with Bendix creations would've come anywhere close to that. 

But it still stank, in their sweat, in their breaths, and they were glad whet it was gone. When they got the keys for a small apartment, a set of papers for their new identities, and a bank account with a small amount of funds. 

When they crossed the threshold into the two-bedroom thing, locked the door behind them, drew down the blinds, and collapsed on the dusty couch? That was the best making out that Apollo would remember. It was the first one when they didn't half expect to be interrupted by the monster over their shoulder. The first one where they could just take their time and enjoy every little twitch, every gasp, every touch. No rush.

It was the one that tasted of freedom.


	5. With Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first moments of the year 2000.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, major references to canon character deaths. Grief. Shock. Team dynamics. That kind of jazz.

They were all tired. It was easy to see, and it had nothing to with having killed God. Or god. Or whatever. 

It did have a lot to do with losing Jenny, however. She'd been a complicated old woman in a young body, swearing, smoking, making each of them feel right for the job (and, when they needed it, bringing them down a notch or four). They'd all lost a friend, not just a teammate, not just a leader. Some had worked with her longer than others. It didn't matter. They'd all done their best. 

They'd almost been enough to pull it off properly (without anyone dying, that is), but not quite. Though, Apollo thought, Jenny'd known what had been coming. She'd been ready, even if the rest of them hadn't... his eyes strayed to Midnighter, who hadn't said a word in a while. Apollo frowned. Jack was still cradling Jenny's body, though he looked about ready to sigh and heave up and take her to medbay, lay her out on her slab of metal. Or whatever the Carrier provided, of course. 

Apollo glanced up, and then again at Angie. She was crying, so he couldn't tell anything about the state of the Carrier from her, not really. But he suspected that they were all, just now, also affected by _her_ mood. Jenny had never been the one to talk directly to the Carrier, that he knew, but, from what he'd been able to gather, she'd been the one who'd found her. And now she was lost, too. After a long look around the room, Apollo stepped closer to the command nodes. 

"Shen. Take us home."

Swift raised her tear-glistening eyes to him, and, after a moment, nodded. She focused on her hands and the transparent displays, and Apollo watched her for a moment to make sure she was going to be okay, and turned to Angie. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around, burying her face into his chest. Living, crying metal against his skin, huh, he must've lost half his costume again at some point, he was going to get yelled again for not taking care of his gear, Jenny could be-- 

She had been rather scathing about it. He guessed she wasn't going to take him to task about that, now. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawksmoor pick up the body and get up. He didn't stumble on his way out of the makeshift command center. Apollo was glad. His arms wrapped around Angie, and he surveyed those who remained. Shen was well focused into getting them out. The Doctor was curled up against one of the walls, arms around his knees, and staring fixedly at some point, or something else that he only knew, Apollo couldn't tell. 

Then his attention turned fully towards the Midnighter. 

His body language betrayed nothing. His mouth was pressed in a line, but that was not exceptional in any way. His eyes scanned the room and the inputs from outside, but that was typical, too. 

And he was silent. Doing nothing. Passive. 

This wasn't typical. And Apollo knew the difference. When Midnighter wasn't a cat ready to pounce, something was off, and he could make some very good guesses as to what, and why.

[ _You couldn't have done anything. You couldn't have stopped it._ ]

Midnighter started, then stared up at him, across the wrecked room. There was a healing cut on his cheek, shallow. Hadn't reached the edge of his mask. Physically, he was okay, and Apollo sighed in relief, at that. Sure as most of Midnighter's outcomes were, he wasn't invulnerable, and this. This thing. It had stretched each of them to the limit. 

But he was blaming himself, because he _had_ seen it coming, and hadn't won. Hadn't stopped her, and she'd died. Never mind that she'd died because the century had died, not because she'd drained herself, or anything like it. She'd been a friend, she'd put herself out when she hadn't had to...

... Apollo added to that private-link thought, 

[ _And I'm fine._ ]

He got a mental snort back, for that, but Midnighter was moving again, breaking his state of freezing. Stalking over to hang over Shen's shoulder. Raising an eyebrow at Apollo, for holding - comforting, he guessed - a weeping woman, and a corner of his mouth twitched. After a quick glance to make sure nobody was watching, Apollo stuck his tongue out at him. It was too much, and too childish, and so wrong, for all that had happened. All they'd lost. But he hadn't quite drained his energy, and Midnighter needed... something. Enough to make him grouchy or angry about it so he'd keep on moving. 

A couple of minutes later, Angie'd calmed down, Jack had come back, and Shen'd snarled Midnighter away from watching over her shoulder. They were all picking up around the place, except for Shen who was still navigating them out of the enormous carcass. It was half-hearted, but then, Apollo didn't take long to become aware that Midnighter was making his way closer to him, watching him with the same raised eyebrow that the mask did nothing to hide.

[ _I noticed that you kinda took charge, back there. Are you--_ ]

[ _**No!**_ ]

"Bert and Ernie, are you having a lover's spat or something?" 

Apollo did not need to look to know that Midnighter had directed a glare identical to his own at Jack. The growl of " _don't_ " only confirmed his guess. 

Hawksmoor raised his arms, palms forward. "All right, all right, I just meant that the last bit was kinda loud!"

Apollo tried for a light tone, but it was hard to keep the ghosts of the past from his mind, so he wasn't sure how well that worked. "We were just pondering questions it's far too soon to really discuss, is all."

"Never too soon to think of what next."

Apollo managed a smile that sat bitterly on his lips. "Not quite that. But it's a good question. Other than the obvious."

"Yeah."

"We'll probably have our hands full as soon as we get back to Earth," Shen reminded them. Midnighter was no longer beside him, no longer in the room, and Apollo sighed to himself. 

"What else is new?"

"It still deserves--"

"Saving. I know, Shen. We heard her. And believe her." He turned towards her with a small smile, then shrugged at Jack. "I need a bit of time, but I'll come back to finish the cleaning. Will you make sure that the Doctor doesn't get a stroke or anything?" A snort and an eye-roll, and that was going to be good enough. 

They were all broken, this morning. 

He found Midnighter in their quarters. Mask off, coat carefully put away, shirt unbuttoned and cuffs, too. Elbows resting on his thighs, staring in front of him, eyes distant. Running things through the computer. When the door clicked closed, the brown eyes focused on him, and he got a grouchy, "so you'll let Hawksmoor take charge?" 

Apollo ran his hands over his face, then stripped what was left of his costume. Put it in the trash. Came to the bed, considered sitting beside Midnighter, then just stretched back on it, instead. "Better than what happens under my command, and you know it."

"That was one time. And Bendix had withheld information."

Bile twisted Apollo's mouth. He didn't flinch away from the memory (they all deserved better). "Haven't you noticed? Almost everything we go into involves insufficient information. I'm not good enough, I came to terms with that a while back. Pretending's not good for anyone."

"So you'll pretend to be a big dumb piece of muscle?" 

Apollo shrugged. "I don't mind. I'll have all your backs if things go bad. It works."

The Midnighter finally leaned back. This was acceptable, for his computations. Apollo started to relax. The calloused hand reached to take his, and the other one wrapped around it. There were days when Midnighter could say _I'm sorry_. Today wasn't one of them, but Apollo heard it, all the same. 

He listened to their heartbeats, off-beat and then slowly aligning, and let sadness come and go, as it would. 

Then the Engineer's mental voice cut through the almost-peace. [ _Boys, you'd better not be getting hot and heavy while I'm scrubbing divine gunk from the deck!_ ]

[ _Coming, Angie!_ ]

"Apollo?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Put on pants."


	6. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During those three years apart in Revolution. Three words: marriage counselor attempt.

Finding the Midnighter when he didn't want to be found was a mostly impossible task. Not when he had disabled his Carrier communicator, and not when he had really gone off on his own. 

Mostly impossible, that was, unless you were Apollo. The man who had sharp vision and hearing, who adored Midnighter even with his heart shattered as it was, now, and who had intimated knowledge of how Midnighter thought, what he did - especially when it came to living rough and striking out on his own. Oh, he knew his patterns and the lack of those so well. There was nobody, alive or dead, who could find him now. Not the Doctor. Nobody.

But Apollo.

He was dressed in normal clothes, probably a tad too warm for the city where he was now, but he'd set off to find his errant husband right after dropping Jenny at the kindergarten and hadn't bothered to change. He stepped into the grimy warehouse and his nostrils flared. His heart flared. Midnighter was here. Asleep, too, somehow. 

"It's me."

He had to give the Midnighter a warning - he wasn't here to fight, and Midnighter fought when he was startled. A moment, and the shift in the air told him that his announcement had been received. 

"What d'you want."

"You."

Silence. The sounds of shifting were barely audible, but Apollo still knew when to look up to see the naked figure crouching on the beam under the roof. What he didn't expect was the naked longing in the way Midnighter's body oriented himself to him. It choked him, even though he could see the _no_ in the familiar lines, too.

"Jenny does, too." Three words, and they hit the Midnighter like a bullet in the chest. Apollo knew that he was cruel, but he needed... they needed him. "She _needs_ her father, Midnighter." Look, aren't you proud of him, love? He used your name, rather than an endearment, without stumbling over it too much. "I... don't know what the problem is, but, whatever I did, I'll take responsibility. I found a marriage counselor who has helped other supers. He'll listen and is discreet enough--"

"No."

"Midnighter..."

"It's not like that, Apollo. I can't. There's nothing that can be said and done about it." It was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. Another heartbeat, when Apollo thought that he was drinking in the sight of him, and he turned away.

"Please." His voice broke, and he swallowed, trying to find the right words. He'd always found the right words, before.

"Go home. Take good care of her. If there was another way, I'd be there with you." There was barely any breath to the two words he added, after. "I swear."

"I can try--"

" _Go!_ "

The Midnighter faded in the shadows. After two heartbeats of Apollo's, he heard the tell-tale noise letting him know that he was alone in the spacious space. For a moment, he entertained the thought of slipping to where Midnighter had slept. Taking his colors. _Making_ him come home. 

He didn't. 

He was punctual in picking Jenny up from kindergarten, though. She slipped into the car beside him, and put on her seatbelt obediently. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head. No accidents today, so the teachers weren't expecting him to show up and talk with them. _Thank god for small favors._ Listening to Jenny on the drive home was almost good enough to ease him a little, but he still held on to her very tightly when he picked her up from the car and carried her up to their apartment. 

By the time they were on top of the stairs, she'd gone silent. When he closed the door behind them, she was looking at him with a frown. 

"You talked with daddy Midnight, didn't you." Apollo closed his eyes for a moment. Nodded. There were both upsides and downsides to having a daughter as special as theirs. "Then why isn't he here?" 

"I'm sorry, Jenny. He can't come home."

"No!" Her little fist hit against his chest, face twisted. She hit him again. "Let me down!" He did, because there were things he knew better than to try - for her sake, not for how much damage she could do to him if he held her against her will. "You're not _good enough_!" It wasn't a tantrum, and Apollo knew it. She was hurting. He could feel his skin tightening over the bones of his face. Midnighter had been the first father that Jenny had known. He was still, and always would be, her favorite. 

She was five. And she loved his husband. He couldn't blame her. Not when she turned her back to him, and not when she slammed the door to her room without touching it.

Slowly, his broad shoulders hunched down with the weight of the day. After about two minutes, he moved for the first time, to run his hand over his eyes, once. His voice was quiet, but not so quiet as for her not to hear it. 

"Dinner'll be ready at six. Please wash your hands when you come for it."

Then he turned and slowly made his way to the kitchen to get started with that. At least she didn't tell him _no_ about that, right? Life went on. He took care of Jenny, tried to pick up the pieces of their lives. Nothing to it. Only the weight of everything leaning down on him, and the radiant sun king feeling like the crappiest person in the world.

*** 

That night, the only observer that could make any comment on it - Midnighter himself - remarked to himself that there were no survivors for the police to fail to process. It hadn't happened in weeks, since the small crooks generally didn't deserve dying. 

Watch him not giving a single fuck.


	7. On a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dates, two years apart. Both on great occasions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set (mostly) during the five years while they were on the run. Representation of a depressive episode in the second part.

"You've gotta be kidding me." 

"Well, I could, but I'm not." Apollo knew that using his begging face on top of the words was really unfair to Midnighter, but he did it, anyway. " _Please_. There'll be plenty enough crowd that two people nobody knows, like us, won't be noticed at all, and we'd be totally inconspicuous - well, provided we use the civvies we have, not the actual colors. Which I'm not suggesting that we do, for the record. And it's..."

"It's _crazy_. In. sane. It's a crowd, and anyone and anything can hide in it. The numbers for something going wrong are way too high!" 

"How about the numbers for anything going wrong that'll affect us? Anything that'll bring us to the attention up high?" 

Midnighter's mouth twisted. He didn't reply, and that was answer enough. The chances that their appearance on the Pride would get back to Bendix were pretty low, and Apollo hadn't needed a computer to figure that out. For one thing, even if Bendix had known - or cared - about their orientation, there was no way possible for him to know that they'd have rediscovered it. Or that they'd be willing to be open about it. 

And that was one argument Apollo knew the Midnighter wouldn't make against the outing. He didn't care who knew what about his preference for men. A man. They'd caught that reluctance of people to know in a dingy bar, months after they'd stopped trying to figure out how to not be lovers, and Midnighter had been pretty vicious, that night, about stupid prejudices and ways that people thought they could, or should, hurt each other. He'd made sure Apollo knew how he felt about him, in his own way - and, that night, at length and in ways that would have broken anybody more, well, breakable than Apollo. 

And that had been almost two years ago. 

They way they lived, though. They only showed themselves to other people to beat them up - or kill them. Mostly the latter. And, much as Apollo loved the Midnighter (which he did), he hadn't really spoken to another person in months. It was making him twitchy - and the Gay Pride, of all things, was what he'd come up with. They'd be invisible, anonymous in the bright, colorful crowd. They wouldn't have to do anything but be there, to blend in. It made sense to him.

By his expression, Midnighter seemed to have just reached the same safety conclusions. He was still not happy, and Apollo knew why, too. They would be safe from Bendix, but there would be so many people around them, some of them drunk, or just acting out, that the computer in his head was going to be running wild, trying to evaluate all the angles. 

"It'd be a good exercise in making sure you're in control, not the computer." Gently. This was an issue where Midnighter could say _no_ , and Apollo would back off. Maybe feel miserable about it, but Midnighter was the one who knew the pressure that his mods were putting him through. 

Midnighter snorted. "I know who's in control."

"True. If it'll be too much..."

The brown eyes watched him, sharp, considering. His nod was small, no more than a twitch. "Fine. We'll go see how it works."

Apollo couldn't keep his smile in. Beaming. He leaned in, fingers on the side of Midnighter's chin, and kissed him. Then, just to give his partner a more focused reason to complain about, he added, "it'd be our first date, you know." 

Midnighter snorted. Then snickered. And then actually laughed with that idea. 

It wasn't like either of them _didn't_ know, by now, just how much living together meant. Not to mention that they could count their night-time activities as dates, too. So it really _was_ funny. 

*** 

Midnighter leaned his back against the wall, in the shadow, and watched Apollo sit on the dingy roof, face up, and sink in the early summer sun. It was a rote motion. Charge up in the morning. Get through their business with efficiency and ruthlessness, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. Sometimes they fucked. Sometimes they did something entirely else with each other, and those were the times when Apollo glowed again, if only for a little while. 

But nearly five years on the streets, and all the shit they'd seen. All the information they'd gathered about Bendix and governments and just _people_ \- it had worn down even his sun king. Melancholy had flickered in and out, then extended into a depressive episode that had robbed most of the luster from the blue eyes for weeks, now. Yes, Midnighter could bring it back, on some occasions. The sun, after Apollo had been particularly depleted, could, too. But it was still twisting something deep in the Midnighter, to see his lover like this. No gusto for life. It was dangerous. If it crossed the line into not caring whether he lived or died... 

In Apollo's defense, and Midnighter couldn't fool himself about it, Apollo took care to be focused and efficient in what they did, both concealing themselves and shutting down bad things that happened in the night. He _had_ Midnighter's back, no matter what else might be happening in his mind, or how unenthusiastic he might be. It made sense, the Midnighter knew he could trust Apollo, by now, this was just another aspect of _that_ , it just almost hurt to think about.

The dark figure melted in the shadows, letting the sun creature power up. Take his energy where he could find it. 

Instead of watching him like a creep (not that he wasn't), Midnighter moved through the waking city streets, looking for something, anything, to help. He wasn't the kind of man who fixed shit - Apollo was closer to that, but even he was more a weapon than any sort of healer - so he needed help. Any kind of help. He was creative, he knew he was going to find something.

Two days later, in a different city, Apollo dropped in from 'their' rooftop, his halo flickering off slowly as he flew down. As soon as his feet were on the floor, a bunch of clothes were flying through the air and he caught them with faultless reflex. 

"Get dressed, we're going out."

"Okay." 

Jeans, white t-shirt. Light shoes. Tinted glasses. Apollo put the clothes on automatically. Midnighter was ready before he was, his clothing similar, only his shirt black. And there was something colorful on his wrist that nudged at Apollo's mind, but he didn't want to bother to identify it. It wasn't harmful for him, because he knew the Midnighter wouldn't do that, and it wasn't harmful to Midnighter, because that wasn't his mode of self-punishment, and, if it wasn't in those two categories, he could ignore it. He fell into step beside Midnighter, and walked in grayish silence, almost subconsciously registering that they were moving from the former-industrial part of the city to the downtown.

Which was... busier than was usual. And more colorful. 

It was a couple kissing on the sidewalk that actually caught his attention. Each of them had her hands in the other's hair... mindful not to disturb the brightly-colored beads weaved there. They weren't wearing that much more. Apollo blinked. 

Then he looked around, actually paying attention. Somebody passed by them, and gave him a bright thumbs-up. "Good catch, man!" The words made Midnighter's cheeks burn a little under his black shades, and Apollo couldn't help his curiosity. He glanced at the back of Midnighter's shirt. _I'm his_ , it proclaimed. 

"What does mine say?" 

They'd known each other too long for Apollo to miss the sigh. Of all things, it was relieved. Followed by a smirk, too. "He's mine." 

"It's the Pride, isn't it." 

"Yup." The Midnighter held his hand up, and now Apollo realized it was a rubber rainbow bracelet. "I even got this."

For the first time in weeks, Apollo fully felt the energy that he'd soaked up from the sun, was still soaking up from the sun, coursing through his veins and not just one more mental checkbox to keep going. He felt it bubbling up, and it almost choked him, the laughter that came out.

When it eased up, Midnighter's eyebrows were drawn down, caught in a balance of potentials. To help him ease that up, Apollo leaned in and kiss him, long and slow. It felt... good. Full, from his side, too, not just reaching up to try to match all that Midnighter had been giving him and barely making the mark. 

"You remembered."

"Yeah." Breathless. Quiet. But, also, pleased. Not smug, just pleased. 

"... you were worried about me." That got him a raised eyebrow, and Apollo snorted. "Okay, fair enough, not entirely without reason." He shook his head. "But this is... you sure?" 

" _Yes_ , Apollo. I'm positive. I want to be here, with you. And that smile looks good on you."

Apollo ducked his head down, mostly to remind himself not to _glow_ in public. He reached and threaded his fingers with Midnighter's, the rubber of the bracelet nudging against his wrist, too. 

"Thank you." 

They walked through the crowd, hand in hand, until the celebration in the streets died down. Then they sat in a gay bar and watched people, from the not-quite-predators to the steady couples to those who were just learning to love each other, and then made love outside the city, under the moonlight. 

It wasn't a magic pill that took the depression away. But, drop by drop, in filled up the depleted reserves of _believing in this world_. It was a solid foundation for healing. By the time Jackson King found them, months later, Apollo's smile was as easy as if nothing like depression could touch the sun king, not in a million years, and it came easy, not just pretending to protect the both of them from anyone getting that knowledge. 

People kept asking Apollo what he saw in the Midnighter, once they were with the Authority. He gave different answers, and all of them were true. But he also knew that, along with all the things he spoke of, he saw the man who could find out how to help him when he needed it most, and do it. No conditions, no holds barred, with his whole heart and as much of his mind as he could wrest from the computer that never fully shut down. 

And the man who knew how to show his date a good time. 

What more could a guy ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the second part, they're wearing [these t-shirts](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0a175d9c07b80885e17699cf90eb61da/tumblr_nkjv3g0JcF1u54quxo1_500.jpg).


	8. Cheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charades. Family. Team. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I mean it. This prompt response is pure fluff.

It was a slow night. 

No, it wasn't really a slow night. The world under them turned, still fraught with trouble and villainy. The refugees in the belly of the carrier slept (or wandered, or cried, or fucked, or gave birth, there was really a city, there, and the numbers were running through his mind, as usual, but they were a normal kind of series. He didn't expect anything as highly probable to pop up tonight). The troubles were still out there in the universe, and they weren't any more asleep tonight than they usually were. 

But they had a two-year old girl, and the last week had been pretty grueling (if not unsuccessful), and they'd decided, fuck it, they were having a slow night tonight, unless there was a genuine emergency, and then the Carrier would tell them, directly or via Angie.

So, five of them - Apollo, Midnighter as one team, Angie and Shen as the other, and Jenny helping whoever she felt like helping, or, most often, obfuscating everything for all of them - were playing at charades. 

The ladies were unanimous that the Midnighter would not be allowed to be the one making the guesses. With his computer, he'd probably figure out the word even before they'd told it to Apollo. At least that was Angie's and Shen's reason - Jenny just liked it when Daddy Midnight pretended to be things, he always made it funny, and his faces were the best. Also it sometimes made Daddy Apollo laugh so much that tears were running from his eyes, and that just felt nice. To watch the two of them, like that. 

Seventeen words in, the score was just about even. Jenny was in peals of laughter over Shen trying to fly _up_ with her body upside down, and Apollo was eyeing the girl and suggesting they take a tiny break so their daughter would catch her breath and drink some water. Not that Jenny would choke any anything like that, but he didn't like to take risks. 

Well, not with her, at any rate.

Angie looked up from where Shen was wheezing, also with laughter, on the floor, and made a tiny squeal. "Jack! Come sit with us! Jenny won't let you play since you didn't start with us, so it's all right."

Hawksmoor shook his head with a smile, then did step into the room, sitting cross-legged beside her. "What's the score?" 

"We're leading them! By... a whole two points!" 

"They're letting you win, you know that, right?"

"Nu-huh. We won those points, fair and square!" 

"... oh, Ang." His smile was fond, but. "You've fought with them for years, now. You can't miss the fact that they're always coordinated." 

"Yeah, well, we've all agreed on no link communication, like no Midnighter as guesser." 

"And you think they need telepathy to communicate?" 

Angie blinked between them. Apollo looked smug, actually, and Midnighter made her a small, fake bow. She stared at them some more, then reached to cover Jenny's ears. "But... but that's cheating!"

"Nu-huh!" The husbands reacted in such perfect unison that all Angie had left to do was cover her face in her hands, feeling silly for not having realized it earlier. 

Jenny crawled over her knees, offering up a bowl. "Peanut?" 

Shen giggled, reaching to ruffle the dark head of hair. "Jen, you know that's cheating too, right?" 

"It's nice! So don't matter!" 

Angie took a deep breath to answer that...

... and let it right out again. 

"That's right, kiddo. When everyone's having fun... I don't mind that much."

"Yes?" 

"Yeah."

"... then you still gotta guess the word!"

The entire room was full of laughter before the imperative words had finished leaving her lips. They all roped Jack as guesser, next.


	9. Morning Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This retirement thing... it's not as easy as it may sound.

"Huh."

Apollo looked over from the mat they shared on the floor. They had a bed, of course, but after the last five years, it was too... too soft. And too warm. And smelled too nice, though Midnighter had pointed out that _that_ part was going to fix itself once they actually started using it. Smelling of each other. They were both okay with that thought. Anyway, the sky was overcast, and while he didn't need to conserve his energy anymore (probably; they'd both heard the scuffle two blocks away last night and maybe whoever it was would be attempting something like it tonight, as well), it still made more sense. Or possibly that was habit talking, it didn't matter much. 

Midnighter was sitting by the table, looking out the window, head canted to one side. Apollo would say he looked like a curious bird, but then he'd hear no end of it, so he abstained. 

For now. Maybe they'd get bored enough to welcome snipping at each other. It was a brave new world they'd stepped into, with Jackson King's blessing, two weeks ago. Now that the magnitude (and the lack of gravity, somehow) of the change was beginning to settle, Apollo wondered a little...

Sure, they were retired. What were they going to do? It wasn't like they knew life before Bendix, and life _after_ that... well, that was what they were retiring from, right? But what was left?

Other than each other, obviously. But they were from durable to invulnerable, and while they knew they had a world of damage to fix, or at least appease, mentally and emotionally? There was only so much to fill up their actual days with. Not to mention the nights, since those didn't hold as much sleep for them as was expected. It never had, that they remembered. 

On the other hand... they'd figured out everything that they'd needed to, this far. They'd figure this one out, too.

"Hmm?" 

Not that they communicated incoherently, of course. Well, maybe sometimes, when they didn't need more. Pretty frequently, actually, but definitely not always. 

"Don't know if this long's been enough, but it seems that people who live in homes," _like we do now,_ Midnighter didn't say, but Apollo heard it, anyway, "seem to do more or less the same things for big parts of the day. Monday through Friday, and separate routines Saturday and Sunday." He paused, blinking owlishly. "I knew the numbers, the statistics for the likelihood of such things, and how to disrupt them, but it's different when I can actually..."

"Observe?" 

"Yeah." 

Apollo rolled lightly to his feet, not bothering to put any more clothes than his partner, coming to stand beside Midnighter's seat, letting one hand rest on his shoulder. "And what things do people do, every morning, then?" 

"Stumble out of bed." Apollo snorted and got a crinkly-eyed look in reward. The Midnighter went on. "Start coffee, or tea. Sometimes breakfast. Take shower, or bath, in a few cases. Have breakfast and catch up with the news, paper or electronically. Or not news. Children... Children seem to run around a lot and fight with each other and their parents a whole lot. Getting ready for work. Leaving for work." He shrugged. "The ones who're not reading news but books seem to be the most engaged. And the most likely to run late. But... happier."

By now, Apollo's thumb was running along the shoulder his hand was resting on. "And you got all that from watching people through their windows?" 

"Watching. Listening. Smelling. You know how it is." That got Apollo to snort again. "You _do_ know how it is."

"Yeah, I do." His hand stilled, and he sat on the other chair, one leg tucked under him comfortably. He considered the Midnighter. As far as they could determine, he was the older between the two of them, and the one gifted with higher skills that were classified in the 'intelligence' area. Mostly the tactical computer. There had been days and nights when Apollo had thought of it - and called it - the _damned fucking_ tactical computer. Not quite, anymore. It was a part of Midnighter. Almost like a part of himself. Good enough for him. Apollo's mental gifts... no, he was almost sure at this point that they weren't something granted by Bendix, mostly because the man was too much of a bastard. It probably came from who Apollo had been before. People smart. Not _stupid_ exactly, really, though almost so in comparison to the Midnighter, but he could read people. 

And he could _read_ the Midnighter. 

It was past clear that the idea of a routine, after spending most of the lives they remembered avoiding routines of any traceable variety, fascinated him. The differences between them and the people around them, their... neighbors? He didn't like them. Maybe trying to blend in would help.

"So... do you want to?"

"Do I wanna what?"

"Have a shower? Make coffee?"

"We don't have coffee."

Apollo kept watching him. Midnighter stared back, then gave an exaggerated sigh. 

"Yeah. It'd probably be... good. To have these... rituals. I mean, you already have one, though it runs on the weather, not on the day of the week."

"And I can technically do it when it's overcast. Now that it's... not a danger."

"Yeah." Midnighter's rare smile, the one that didn't threaten, curved his lips. Apollo's own responded, as easy as always... and as special as Midnighter's. It _was_ good to be free. _That_ happy recollection had them sinking in a content silence. Apollo let his thoughts drift, though he wasn't oblivious that Midnighter's attention hadn't really strayed from him. He just happened to like it there. 

What did _he_ want? Morning routines weren't a bad idea, and he was sure some of those would stick. The ones that worked for both of them, and which could be scrapped when they had something more important to do, but they could pick up again... 

_I want what will make him happy._ Apollo almost snorted out loud at that thought. Happy wasn't in the cards, for people like them. As out of the question as needing breakfast or butting head with kids. On the other hand, Midnighter had actually _said_ the word. Or 'happier,' at any rate. Apollo's eyes lit up. 

"Oh, I know!"

"What?"

"We _can_ get books. I mean, it's a start, right? After a shower, of course."

"Shower and clothes. 

"Yeah. See, we can do it."

It wasn't that easy, of course. Without laser-precision information-seeking goal, picking boos out of a bookstore was kind of big. Apollo set out to browsing, and Midnighter went to ask for recommendations ("something not boring" Apollo overheard, and gracefully abstained from facepalming) and they somehow ended in front of the same set of shelves filled with colorful paperbacks. Apollo'd figured out that if they took a book of a long series and they liked it, they'd have at least a bit of time to figure out next steps before they ran out of books, even at the speed they could read. Midnighter, well. Clearly the store assistant didn't consider these books boring. 

That worked for _them_. They picked out three of the books and headed home. 

(That night, the ruckus repeated itself. It lasted significantly less, however, with Midnighter working out some of his pent up energy - a lot could get pent up in two weeks - with Apollo watching quietly from above, in case there was something else going on and they needed the eagle's eye view at a later time. A couple of surprised kids who'd kept their cash thanked the weird man in black leather and scurried off. To Apollo's pleasant surprise, they went home. Maybe these neighbors weren't going to turn out very problematic, after all...)

And the morning brought about the repetition of a sound that was very rare indeed. The Midnighter howling in surprised laughter, without thought of direction or planning or even a care who might hear. Apollo grinned to himself, when his partner settled back to read over his shoulder again, and marked this one a decided success. Maybe they could manage this retirement thing, after all.

Or, if not, they'll always have had Discworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP, Sir Terry. For all the awesomeness you've given people healthy and broken, the laughs that you brought through the pain, and for stories that you've told.


	10. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Seth disaster...

The pain was nearly overwhelming. It irritated Midnighter, because he shouldn't be in this much pain, and it shouldn't be making him incapable of moving much, or his vision grow fuzzy. His mods should be fixing him (but, even without the computer's numbers, he knew that his body needed to have some place to start from, and he'd been left with nothing.

And then Apollo was there, and his pain was now shone on, in stark relief. The sun, his sun, was there. His sun, who'd been so broken so little while ago. Who'd thought him dead, or, no, he hadn't thought him dead, because Apollo knows him better, he knows him better than anyone, even Bendix...

But knowing him wasn't enough. His spare heart was out of service, his body was giving way. Apollo's face twisted when he gave him that job, to fight the bad guys so that bastards like Midnighter wouldn't have to, he could see that it wasn't working. Apollo wanted it to work, but the light was leaving Midnighter's face, his limbs were growing cold, so cold, so much colder, and he knew that nothing he could say could possibly be fun enough for Apollo to be okay with this. 

The last thing he heard was Apollo's voice, so helpless and small that it almost gave him strength enough to climb out of the pit of darkness he was being dragged into, just to stop it from happening ever again. "You always come back. Come back..."

Pain came back first. 

You weren't supposed to feel pain when you were dead, but what did they even know? What did _he_ know?

Only the pain didn't stay alone for long. His senses started snapping to, too. Smell. Touch. Hearing. The filthy sock stuffing his mouth was almost familiar, but it was the scent that caught his attention. The computer flickered back online, sputtering random scenarios, but Midnighter didn't need it to know what he'd see when he finally managed to unglue his eyes. 

The words coming from the beautiful, pinched face looking down on him were a bit of a surprise, but not a complete one. (He just liked to avoid thinking he could predict Apollo - not that it ever really worked, honestly, his partner could surprise him, somehow, since the first few days he could remember; the computer hated him for it.) 

"Hey, love. So glad you decided to keep your date with me, instead of the other option, here." 

"What, scared enough for dear old me that you can't even say 'death' out loud?" 

The full lips pursed into a quiet line and Midnighter squeezed his eyes shut again, for a moment. "I'm fine."

That got him the snort he deserved (he wasn't fine, but he was getting there). "Of course you are."

"That bad, huh?" 

"It was." The new voice wasn't Angie's, and that was a bit of a surprise. The Doctor stepped into his line of sight, and that was pretty much all the answer the Midnighter needed. _Fuck._ Well, okay, too late for that. Whatever. 

"You got that fucker's story sorted out, anyway, I'm guessing, or we wouldn't all be here."

"It was a little touch and go for a bit. He was... not something that should've happened."

"Tell me the story on the way to our room?" 

Apollo hesitated, but, to his credit, he didn't look over, either to the Doctor or to Angie. "I will." 

"Doesn't he feel a little... I dunno, not masculine when you carry him like that?"

Apollo raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. "You really think something like this _matters_ to how masculine _the Midnighter_ looks or feels?" 

"Or acts."

"... I'm not even going to try and guess how he can sound that scary when he was mostly dead, like, an hour ago." 

Apollo's smile was actually pretty gentle. "It just doesn't matter what position he's in, or anything like that. I've heard this called bridal carry - but the big problem is that it's just pretty hard to do, when the person you're carrying is heavy. So it gets 'reserved' for brides, and people get away with not doing it. I just like that I can see him while I carry him over."

"Also, you're not even walking." 

"What can I say? I like my advantages where I find them."

The Doctor grumbled something under his breath, and Angie's clear laughter followed them down the hallway. It didn't matter to the Midnighter anymore, anyway. Instead, he just looked up into the set face above him. "I'm okay and I'm getting better by the moment."

Apollo didn't answer. But his eyes squeezed tight for a moment. 

"Talk to me, love." 

"It's... we've both been close to kicking the bucket before." The particular expression slipped out of Apollo's lips without him even noticing it. "But you've never been this close before."

"And?" 

"And you wanted me to just keep on going as though nothing happened."

"Yes."

"Don't. Don't ever ask that of me again."

"Apollo..."

"Will you marry me?" 

"What?" 

"Will you marry me? I don't fucking want you to go, either of us to go, without us having this. Having everything." 

Midnighter waited until they were in their rooms, and Apollo had set him on the bed, stepping away. To pace - not fly, pace - around the room, Midnighter knew. He made his arm obey, shooting it to catch Apollo's hand before he'd moved too far from the bed.

"Yes."


	11. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new arrival in the family means that a big shopping trip has to be made... Welcome home, Jenny Quantum.

The store was full of pale, pastel colors, loud infant screams, fake 'neutral' smells, baby puke, poop, pee, and formula; nylon packages and attempts at muted music. The Midnighter hated it from the moment he stepped inside it.

Jenny, in Apollo's arms, seemed to share that opinion. Even Apollo's eyebrows drew down, but then again, he was not in his best moods, these days. "Maybe I should've left at least Jenny back. Angie'd have watched over her."

"Maybe." Midnighter's answer was barely more than a grunt. He knew that the baby wasn't very content if _he_ was out of sight, and _Apollo_ got restless faster if she wasn't close by, and he really hated the mess that had happened for breaking down Apollo, but he hated it an hour ago and would hate it again tonight, so that part was no news. Now they had a job to do. "But then we wouldn't know if she really _hates_ something until we got home, and that'd have meant coming back here. Guess we'll see if she's okay with other babies being..."

"... babies."

Midnighter's head whipped around, just fast enough to catch the corner of Apollo's mouth drop back down, and crossed his arms. And then un-crossed them to take the couple of sheets of paper that Apollo held out for him.

"Here, I printed out a checklist. I mean, we don't need all of it--" out of habit, Midnighter went to the last page, and then snorted at '2 to 4 nursing bras, if nursing' "-- but we'll not even think of a bunch of things without it, I'm sure."

Midnighter finished scanning the pages, then squinted up at the flower-like store directions. A small fraction of the computer output analyzed the fact that Apollo had provided a strategy, and then had left it to him to work out the tactical approach to the assignment, then put a little checkbox against it as 'normal' and got to work.

"Crib, mattress, and hamper first," the Midnighter announced, and strode off in the necessary direction purposefully. They could probably get away without the crib and hamper, too, with some Carrier-coaxing from Angie, but. They hadn't actually _talked_ about it, yet Midnighter knew that Apollo had similar thoughts of maybe not necessarily raising Jenny all on the Carrier. Just so that she could have _some_ chance at forming normal connections with kids, or something like that.

(Somewhere he'd read, or heard, that parents wanted to give their kids the things that they'd never had. It made sense. It made a lot of fucking sense, when the parents were, well. 

Them.) 

Jenny, at least at her current age and in her current mood, was not a picky shopper. Not a fussy one, at least - she had specific preferences for some things (no pink, except for her pacifier, apparently), but she didn't make them wonder what she wanted. If she wanted one thing over another. If something was a decided preference, or not wanted at all. 

Midnighter would definitely take it, along with all the smells and the sounds and the stupid colors and lights in the store, all the danger and all the probabilities that went bonkers because they were dealing with tiny human beings with unformed patterns, so, even if their threat level was low... 

Well. 

He did know he was paranoid. 

Anyway, he'd even take even that for watching Apollo slowly relax, focused almost completely on the infant he was holding most of the time. It had definitely not been one of the planned activities, to watch his partner smile again, and it was kind of distracting. But as they argued, uh, as they _discussed_ just how many onesies she would need (they settled on the more generous estimate) or if they needed to get her mittens (they did, two pairs) and how much formula they would need (ha. generous estimate, too, but only because it would mean coming over here more often than necessary) it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. 

That had not happened in a long time.

When they reached the audio monitors, though? The two of them looked at each other and started laughing so hard that they woke Jenny (who'd drifted off against Apollo's broad shoulder) up. But the very thought was. 

It was ridiculous. Between two superhumans with improved hearing, and, at least for now, on a sentient ship who always talked with living-machine-blooded teammate? 

Yeah. A baby-phone seemed just way too... quaint. 

Midnighter couldn't recall the last time the two of them had laughed like this. Before Jenny Sparks died, for sure. 

Apparently, baby items shopping was not _such_ a horrible way to pass the time, after all.


	12. Co-Dependence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Revolution. The team's broken up, Apollo's leaving to take care of his daughter. Nothing's all right.

"Are you all right?" 

Apollo was getting sick of the question, even though he knew that Angie only meant the best. He was getting sick of the question _and_ of her well-meaning because, frankly, she was very far from the idiot it would take, not to know the short answer was 'not at all' and the long one was a rant that could go on for hours. 

He was getting sick of the question because he _couldn't._ He couldn't answer with the truth (not where Jenny could hear, and Jenny could hear a lot), he couldn't rant for hours. And, mostly, nobody could change his response. 

Nobody but _him_ , of course, but Midnighter wasn't coming back. He'd left and it as stupid, but...

There were some things that Apollo knew about his husband. Things that had held true for years and years, things that had not changed, no matter how many times he would replay that last conversation between them, or the night before. These things didn't make the weeks since then any easier, but - Apollo still knew them. 

The Midnighter didn't _act_ unless he was certain that was what had to be done. (Oh, he would kill gleefully, he would maim and torture and revel in it, but not one of those deaths would he be incapable of explaining. Not one of those cuts would be without reason.) The Midnighter never told anyone everything that he knew, or barely any of it at all, and he rarely _gave_ his reasons. They were, often as not, for him alone. Or he had reasons for hiding the reasons. 

And the Midnighter loved him. From the dark and twisted way that could (was) tear both of them apart, to the bright way that made his whole being sing louder than the sun, Midnighter loved him. And if he said there was no other way, then he truly thought it. No other way for _what_? Apollo didn't know. But he wouldn't have left if he'd thought anything else was possible. (Wouldn't have clung so to him, the night before, the words spilling out of his lips the way they sometimes did when he was trying to outrun the computer, outrun his modifications, outrun the precognition - when he was trying to be only the man underneath. When he was trying to be the man he thought worthy of Apollo's love. Untainted.)

Knowing all of these things didn't make his chest hurt any less. Or watching Jenny's tears any easier. Or hearing the questions any better, really.

Because, deep as his pain was, he knew that Midnighter wasn't doing any better. He could imagine his days and his nights pretty easily - in fact, he knew he could find him without a very great effort, the two of them had done this for a very long time together. Both staying on the run and simply. Working with each other. Theoretically, Midnighter could disappear, too, but Apollo knew that he wouldn't. Just far away and hidden away to make his continued intent clear. 

No further. 

Because, current actions notwithstanding, Midnighter wasn't going to cut off all connection to him, to Apollo. He wasn't going to toss away the one link he had to the man that he wanted to be, the one bond with the person who made him, as far as people like them could be, happy.

Apollo had to let go of the back of the chair he was leaning on, or else the Carrier-metal furniture would have cried out from the pressure. Just at the thought that happiness was completely and forever behind their backs. 

Behind Midnighter's back.

Ah, yes, that was another thing about the Midnighter. He didn't trust easily. It was kind of tied up with the not-telling-anyone-everything thing, except it was separate, too. He trusted Apollo. And Jenny. And, possibly the Carrier. Trusted the rest of the team, too, only somewhat less. Most of them, Angie. Then Shen, and Jack. Jeroen least, though in the instances when he did trust him, that trust was possibly the deepest. 

When you've been undone and rebuilt from scratch, or close to it, it's hard to trust somebody who can undo you and rebuild you from scratch at a whim. Even when he's made it very clear that he wasn't interested in remaking other people's realities without urgent, undeniable, life-saving sort of reason. (Jeroen wanted to fix his own reality so bad, though. Simply didn't know how. Maybe, in another life, Apollo could have tried to help him out with that. But what did he know? Missing more than half of your life didn't put you in the best position to teach...)

Missing the other half of your life didn't put you in one, either. 

Was Apollo okay? No, not in the least. Did he know what he was doing, what he was supposed to do? Sort of. He'd been the one modified for (limited) strategy, the way Midnighter was optimized for tactics. He knew that he _had_ to keep himself functional (no, he didn't want to) and ever keep his wits about himself (even each time he moved, those wits cut him with more ideas why Midnighter left, how he hadn't been enough, how he'd gone wrong, _some_ how) and take care of Jenny. Raise Jenny, as they should have done together. 

Raise Jenny, whose heart was broken. Because Daddy Midnight had always been just a fraction more her daddy, because he'd been there at the very beginning, and Apollo had needed time to recover. Because Daddy Midnight never could resist being the best at what he was doing, and that had been, also, an amazing father. 

Raise Jenny, who seemed about as likely to forgive him for letting Midnighter go as he was, himself - not at all - and almost for the same reasons. 

Should he have thought? Some days, Apollo was certain - fighting would only have made things worse, but wouldn't have changed the outcome. 

Today wasn't one of them.

In the end, he shook his head at Angie. But didn't voice the answer. 

"But you're still sure you're gonna go down? You know any place you get set up at will have 24/7 surveillance, right?"

"They'll get tired. There'll be nothing to see."

"Ever the optimist."

Apollo could hear the hollowness in his own voice. "No, not ever. And certainly not these days."

"Apollo, I'm sorry--"

"Don't worry about it, Ange. Just. Give us a call, now and again?"

"... sure. Let me know if you need someone to talk to?"

This would be the place to make a joke. A bad one, one that stretched between them back to the turn of the Millennium. 

He didn't. Didn't have it in him.

"Sure. If I need anyone, I'll call."

"Liar." She was better at this than him. He smiled.

"Maybe not. Take care of yourself and Jack, Ange. I'll be in touch."

He turned and went to pick up his things, and Jenny's, and Jenny herself, as though he could live like this. It was a lie. Everybody was going to suspect it. 

But only one person was going to _know_ , and he was living his own lie, too.


	13. Making up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd never fought about big things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No, I've not given up.) This was supposed to be more fun and cute than it happened.

It never used to be over big things. Never, _ever_ about where they were going to go, or what they were doing overall - those things they sometimes talked about, but it was mostly kind of lining up of strategy and tactics, never a discussion. 

No, it was the small things. Apollo getting a rip in his colors, and both of them knowing they couldn't afford (not in money, though they didn't bother with that; it was the attention, the chance to be traced, that they couldn't spare) to get it properly fixed. Apollo salvaging something small, a book, maybe, or, that one time a sketching pad. Then Midnighter would come in from the rain and drip blood over it. When it happened, Apollo would roll his eyes, most times, and work with what he had, anyway.

But then something would be going on, they'd be running into a dead end, or maybe they had to stay indoors and out of the sun for days. Even before he ran into exhaustion, the shortage of power could make Apollo's temper way too short. Way shorter than usual. Midnighter never could figure out if that was a remnant of Bendix's training, where nobody had been allowed to operate at full capacity and that meant that, with all the pushing, Apollo would have to have been mostly starved most of the time, or merely a remnant from earlier, impatience and crossness as a result of sleep dep or low blood sugar or something.

It didn't matter.

And, Midnighter had to admit, he had his times when he was exceedingly grumpy, too.

So, yeah, they fought, the little things one or the other had done a while ago sparking it up. Low voiced, and savage, words hurting deeper than physical violence could ever damage them, anymore. Either of them. Never about big things, never, _ever_ about them. And never the truly bad things they could tell each other. More like. Majorly snarky sulks on both ends.

But Midnighter was, unquestionably, the bigger bastard between them, and usually it was Apollo who shook his head and backed out, storming away to seethe in silence, Midnighter smirking because he'd _won_. 

It ofter came back soon enough, the awareness. The knowledge that maybe - no, definitely - for all his invulnerability, Apollo's skin wasn't that thick. Not metaphorically, anyway. That Midnighter's words were meant to hurt, and he knew, more than anyone with the exception of Bendix, just how to hurt his partner. (His lover.) (His everything.) 

Then he would bounce his head against the wall, and walk over to where Apollo was staring broodily out whatever passed for a window. Or huddled down in a different doorway. Somewhere apart, but never too far away. Neither of them said anything, Apollo because he probably was too exhausted or unhappy or just unwilling to start it all again though he would be perfectly aware that Midnighter is near, and Midnighter because. 

Because his words are shit when it comes to the good stuff. Apollo can spin them right, just so. Make even _him_ smile. Midnighter? Midnighter can rile people up to fight. And sometimes upset them. Well, usually upset them, he just only used that sometimes. Apollo usually could translate well from what he blurted out into what he meant it to say. 

He didn't want to push that. Not in these times.

So he'd sit beside him, or, if it was just the two of them and Apollo was brooding at the outside world, he'd drape himself against the blond's back. Listen to his heartbeat - not his breath, Apollo would hold that when he was upset for the sake of not losing control (always control, such a fucking thing, that control) - and wait for it. The moment when Apollo's hand would move, slowly. Reach to cover Midnighter's. 

And Midnighter's mind would ease from its own tight spiral of self-accusation. Because this man, this fucking man right here. He kept on forgiving him. He kept on staying, even though maybe he didn't have to. He kept letting Midnighter fuck him into the filthy floor, or against the wall, and then later would rinse Midnighter's scarred skin into whatever rivulet they might have found on the way that seemed clear enough to do the job. 

This man, this fucking idiot, wouldn't flinch away from his touch, from his voice. Midnighter was dead certain that he didn't deserve all the chances he had, he couldn't. And yet, there they would be.

Even when they weren't fighting and making up, they'd just fit.

Midnighter was the one staring out of a greasy, jagged piece of glass in a broken window. Alone. Missing his husband and their daughter as he had every hour for the seven months since he'd disabled his communicator with the Carrier. The fucking steady heartbeat wasn't anywhere to be heard. And it was his own fucking fault. 

There would be no embrace to fix this shit. No hope, no going home. (He couldn't let that future happen. He wouldn't.) 

But there were always people to punch, at least.


End file.
